The Tide is High
by aliensinthesky
Summary: Ford can't sleep, due to the uncomfortable weather and the night terrors his mind holds dear. And even with the nearby comfort of his brother, he feels he must find a way to cope on his own. Stan eventually finds him alone on deck, and tries to soothe the trembling scientist.


The Atlantic is a spectacle of cold, and by the time the first star of the night shines through its atmospheric barrier, the ocean has grown dark and unswerving. It's below freezing now, and the gentle dusk breeze does a terrible job of hiding this fact as it blows through the smallest cracks in the Stan O' War's wooden panels.

Stan sips obnoxiously on some hot broth and chuckles when he sees Ford huddled against his blue jacket and sweater underneath.

"It's not so bad Poindexter, it'll pass. You know how those people on the Titanic died, right? They fell into the water itself. At least we don't have to battle that."

Ford glares at his brother intently, "Don't speak too soon. And anyway, I can't help it Stanley, I'm freezing. You have a better amount of… _muscle.._ on your body, but I'm not built as well in that aspect."

"So go to bed and warm up. It's getting late, anyways." Stan shrugs, slurping the last of his salty concoction.

"You first, you knucklehead."

" Don't be a wet blanket, Ford."

"Might as well be, it feels more freezing than an Oregon snowfall in here."

They'd been able to fit two mattresses in their ship during the start of their sailing-around-the-world-for-treasure-n-babes fiasco, but when that hungry shark came a week ago…Ford swallows thickly. _No need to think of that nonsense, just relax._ He feels suddenly on edge and colder than before.

"I think I have an extra blanket that Mabel sent, if you need it." Stan says.

" Uh..yeah sure, I guess."

Stan searches in some chest from Miami and pulls out a wonderfully soft, navy blue comforter.

"Eesh, this feels like the world's softest thing in existence. Mind if I share with you?"

" Sure, that's fine." Ford has already climbed into bed and huddled himself into a ball of goosebumps. Even his sweater, which had typically caused many heat exhaustion incidents during the summer, cannot save him from the Atlantic westerly.

His blue jacket sits just above this usual savior of a fabric, yet it does him no better. It's far too thin. Ford rips it off his shoulders just as the blanket blocks his vision.

"Catch, nerd."

"Thanks.." Ford swipes it off of his face and wraps it eagerly around his body. It proves to be a major relief, and in minutes, he feels he may be able to catch some much needed sleep.

"Ford?"

"Hmm..?"

"Remember when we shared a bed at Aunt Sheila's as kids? We always thought it was so awkward but she didn't have any room. But we got used to it and made weird forts for hours." Stan exclaims.

"Yeah…what, are you trying to get me to build one now?" Ford nearly laughs.

"No..it's just a memory. It keeps me comfortable when I have to hear you flirting with aliens all night in your sleep. Weirdo." Stan snickers.

"I do _not_ do that Stanley. It's more like me kicking their-"

"Sure, sure. Get some sleep, Poindexter, it's late."

"Alright, goodnight."

" 'Night cap'n."

* * *

It's several hours before Ford jolts back awake and is brought back to the cold realities of the dead sea at night.

He can hear the haunting sound of the air brushing against the waves and the old wood settling on the ship's deck.

" Stan-" He whispers sharply, only to find that his brother is still snoring (un)pleasantly next to him.

 _But I know it..he went missing, I'm sure of it!_

It's only now that Ford realizes his heart is palpitating almost painfully and a clammy film consumes his whole body. He catches his breath and huddles back in bed.

 _Night terror…I haven't had one in a while…Makes…sense…but why…?_

He thinks, perhaps _too_ suddenly-as his heart begins to jackhammer again-and tries to imagine what could have caused this.

 _I did feel uneasy earlier..I suppose I was suppressing anxiety. And then Stan mentioned our childhood, but it was a rather good memory. Perhaps it just made me upset? Not to mention, it's still below freezing in here. Cold weather isn't the best method for-_

 _(stop it)_

 _for stressful situations._

 _(YOU'RE FINE)_

 _Yes, fine…fine.._ fine. Fine. Everything is fine. No harm to come, and it shall stay..but anxiety has a funny way of manipulating its victims.

The tired old man rubs his temples and breathes as slowly as he possibly can. His mind refuses to shut down, but the need for more sleep takes over soon enough, and anxiety and exhaustion battle it out until torpor is a trophy.

Though the trophy is not meant to be permanent. It's a ribbon, a medallion, that is earned and then thrown away by mistake. And a sharp, yellow isoceles figure is chasing him, _humiliating him_. He runs and runs, jumps into other worlds and meets creatures far beyond human comprehension, but the triangle keeps coming back.

It keeps returning and catching up. Blue fire and agonizing shades of red swirl malevolently and-

and..Ford jumps out of bed and decides he needs to go get some air, despite the unbearable temperatures.

* * *

Stan finds him on the deck before dawn. It's so cold he's sure they'll both die if-crap, how long had Ford been out here anyway..? Stan begins to feel a dark sensation crawl up his throat.

"Ford…? Is everything alright?"

"Mmpph…" He mumbles in reply.

" Christ, Ford, what are you doing? Sleepwaking!? You scared me half to death. Come back to bed."

" Can't..nightmares…anxious.."

Ford almost appears like a zombie. It's difficult to decipher in the dark environment, but it's quite easy to sense in certain forms.

It occurs to Stan that he's never really witnessed his brother in such distress before…well, save for a few times, but not when there was no sense of actual danger or mistreatment around. Even then, though, those times were dealt with more energy.

He's unsure of what to do or how to go about the situation, yet his legs, cold and stiff as they are, find their way toward the trembling heap and his hands soon follow.

Stan rubs Ford's shoulder.

"Are you okay? Do you need water? Your jacket? Anything..?"

" Help.." Ford grumbles.

"Here, hold onto me. That's it-careful-just walk slowly and relax. You're fine. You're safe. It's just me."

And suddenly, by instinct, Stan's more aware of what's wrong. Nightmares cause fright, sure, but not _this_. It had to have been more than that. And he understands. It's going to be _fine_.

And fine soon comes once he's able to get Ford into bed and snap him into a full state of consciousness.

" Where am I..?"

"On the Stan O' War. Somewhere between Iceland and Europe. With me, your brother, in case you forgot."

"Right…right, I am, aren't I? I'm sorry, my dreams get so intense…I'm not even sure I'm really awake yet." Ford sighs deeply.

Stan knows the feeling. Many times, he'd been through the same thing. Unaware of reality, trapped in a state of amnesia and darkness, until somebody pulled him back out again. He rubs Ford's shoulder tenderly and sighs as well.

" It's cold now, I can feel it. I guess you were right, Poindexter. It feels like snow took over the whole ocean and swallowed us whole."

" Y-yes, now you notice." Ford shivers.

After a few moments of silence, he's calm enough to at least crawl into bed and lay back down. He struggles, tosses and turns for more sleep to come, but it takes quite a while before he can close his eyes again.

Stan's hardly tired now, and watches over the tired owl until the sun rises fully. The cold weather and the freezing tides subside when Ford awakens again.


End file.
